Our Cause, that for which Jackson gave his life, seems darker now than ever before. We went to war for much less in 1861 than the humiliation and indignities we are forced to suffer today; the same divide still exists, though much amplified and much more intractable. We must wonder what Jackson would do, were he to see what has become of his Virginia. She is fallen, degraded in the ultimate humiliation, though not, we hope, the final defeat. She has been colonized by the Yankee Leviathan, that ever-metastasizing cancerous Blob whose tentacles emanate from Washington, D.C. She has been deluged with aliens, her cities now as Southern as America is American. The fields and forests that our forefathers frolicked in as children have been leveled, dirty parking lots and tenements erected in their place; the farmers are supplanted by MS-13 brutes. Little did the Yankee know that by driving Old Dixie down, he had sown the demise of Old Glory. As Jackson did, though, we must keep the faith and carry the fire. We must heed Lee’s words, offered in memorial to his fallen compatriot: “Lost to us…his spirit still lives…let his name be a watchword… [for our] invincible determination to do everything in the defense of our beloved country.” Charge, and remember Jackson; for long after the rebel yell has ceased to ring through the piney wood, I’ll take my stand to live and die in Dixie.
Lieutenant-General Thomas Jonathan ‘Stonewall’ Jackson was the greatest martyr of our Cause, the first icon of the War for Southern Independence. He was the archetypal Christian soldier; there is infinite wisdom to be gleaned from his life. In death, he has ascended to the status of myth; even in life, as a chaplain once expressed, “Nobody seemed to understand him…when we ordinary mortals cannot comprehend a genius, we get even with him by calling him crazy.”
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